Turn Around
by natashawitch
Summary: What happens when you come across someone you never thought you would see again? Someone you never wanted to see again, but someone who knows your most intimate secrets and fears? What happens when they are the only person you can confide in, when they are the only one who will listen without judgment? *Slow build, Sam/Gadreel, Gradual Destiel. WIP, Mid-Season 10*
1. In the beginning

_Author's note_

_I am constantly flattered that anyone likes my scribbles. I am also very protective of said scribbles. Recently I've had to engage with Goodreads to have some of my works removed, after they were posted without my knowledge. I love when my stories are rec'd, linked to communities, used for rp, or listed on tumblr or LJ. Thank you to those who have done so, but if anyone wishes to share, copy, translate, or post my tales elsewhere, please ask me about it first. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. No copyright infringement intended. Just playing in the sandbox._

_Also I am not American, so apologies in advance for any honourables, colours, cheques, wardrobes, and sweet biscuits which escape editing._

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"_Turn Around, bright eyes. Every now and then I fall apart_." Bonnie Tyler: Total Eclipse of the Heart

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Sam wrapped his hand around a tall paper cup of hot coffee, the heat seeping though his skin, as airport announcements wafted above his head. A nerve hopped in his knee. He rapidly tapped his heel to dispel it.

Leaving his brother alone in the Men of Letters' bunker was a plan that did not sit well, like an ill-fitting coat. Worries needled Sam all though the long hours of his absence. However it would have been an even worse idea to deny Garth and Bess an ancient gryphon slaying stone knife. Garth had called Dean's phone for assistance, unaware of all that had gone down. It was Sam who answered. He had thought that Garth was out, but hunting always found a way to drag someone back in. Not that Garth sounded pissed; rather he was full of wonder that a mythical creature had been secreted inside a scrub hidden cave nearby their home. The werewolf couple had trapped the creature using a mixture of blind luck and hunter instincts after it attacked some pups who had playfully stumbled into its lair. Using the Men of Letters' cross index, Sam quickly identified their catch and discovered the society held such a weapon in one of its vast rooms of sealed boxes. Sam would never have denied the Fitzgerald's his aid, added to which was an imagining of Dean's apoplectic reaction if he ever discovered that he had left their friend hanging in the wind. The distance to Grantsburg made driving out of the question, and Garth needed the knife yesterday. A stone artifact placed in hold luggage would not set Homeland Security on Sam's ass, and flying meant Sam could go and return in one very long day.

A quick handover in arrivals, words of appreciation, a stiffly received Garth-hug, and a silent response to the presumption that Dean refused to board a plane, saw Sam turnabout for the next flight back to Lincoln.

Grabbing ten minutes in the food court to catch his breath and triple shot caffeinate, Sam was vibrating with urgency to get back to Lebanon. He had caught two hours of shut eye the night before, burning the midnight oil with research and rechecking everything before he had departed for his morning flight to Minneapolis St Paul.

The sky had darkened while Sam had been occupied by baggage collection and coffee. A chill wind coaxed him to button up his canvas jacket. Fumbling in his pocket for the Impala keys, Sam's hyper senses picked up a tall slouching hooded figure leaning against the pedestrian entry to the short term car park. His heart rate kicked up, alert and ready. Closing the distance, through the gloom, Sam could pick out dirt streaked denims and long hands holding a Dixie cup seeking change. A weird vague familiarity set Sam even further on edge. He slid his hand down his thigh seeking his knife, but every goddamned weapon was locked in the trunk. All he had was a packet of salt in his pocket and a bottle of holy water zipped inside his duffel. Plenty of times demons had hidden in meatsuits of indigent poor or the God Squad had used itinerant preachers to spy on humanity and the Winchesters. This dude did not bear any bible or cardboard sign declaring Sam's immortal soul to be in need of salvation. Nor did the slumped guy seem tensed to attack. All that meant bupkiss. Perhaps he was an innocent civilian but as Sam took each pace closer his wariness grew. Fingers twitching in preparation of hand to hand combat, the hunter squared his shoulders. He sucked a breath as the air seemed to crackle invisibly in the shortening space between them. The guy jerked as if the inexplicable static impacted him.

Sam startled as the stranger's heels slipped and slid, balance lost, long legs flaying out, butt hitting pavement.

A hoarse gasp, "Sam."

Not a challenge, not a snarl, but almost a plea, as the guy curled away from him.

Quick as, Sam dropped to his knees. If this was a ruse, he had nothing but his fist and a Latin exorcism at his disposal. Remaining on guard, the hunter tentatively placed his wide palm on the shoulder of the fallen man's filthy hoodie.

"How do you know me? Who are you?" He demanded with firm command, "Look at me."

Unfurling painstakingly slow, every inched movement communicating bodily pain, shame and reluctance, Gadreel twisted his body to gaze upward.

Sam snapped back his hand back, as if burned. He pulled up onto the balls of his feet. His breath hitched, eyes dilated, adrenaline hopped. It wasn't possible. Gadreel was dead, blown to pieces in an ultimate act of self sacrifice according to Castiel.

"You?" Sam panted his question.

A clatter of high heeled footfalls came in their direction from the terminal building. Rapid friendly conversation drifted their way.

"Please." Gadreel begged, not meeting Sam's eyes fully, head inclined to his knees.

"Is it you?" Sam double-blinked. Maybe this wasn't the angel but the other poor bastard who had the privilege of being Gadreel's go-to vessel.

"It is I." The angel muttered.

"Have you a weapon?"

Gadreel stared at him blankly.

"Do you have an angel blade?" Sam demanded urgently.

Pupils dilated with headshake was enough denial.

"Right." Sam extended a hand.

Gadreel took it gingerly with a grime marked paw. Sam used his free hand to heft the angel, or former angel, or fallen one, whatever. Gadreel bent double to retrieve his scattered hoard of coins and single dollar bills.

"Leave it." Sam snapped. The women's footfalls were loud and close. They had stopped speaking. Whether this was due to a natural pause in their chat, the sight of two tall giants rising from the sidewalk, or more nefarious reasons, Sam was not waiting to find out.

"Come on." He had to practically drag the angel towards the car, while battling against a state of disbelief that he was willingly bringing the asshat with him.

As Sam popped the trunk to the deposit the duffel he had used as hold luggage and to palm an angel blade, he addressed the shaking celestial being, who was bent double against the flank of the Chevy.

"Thought you were toast."

Gadreel raised his head and one brow.

"Took one for the team, Cas said. Angel dynamite?"

"I did."

"And?"

"I woke, naked, alone, in a garbage tip in Iowa."

Sam hummed. A visceral memory of Chuck removing a molar from his hair hit him in the chest. Raphael had blown chunks of Castiel all over the prophet and his home. Their friend had carved a banishing symbol to his chest, been liquefied by Leviathan, and Lucifer had used Sam's own fingers to snap him out of existence, yet each time Cas returned. Perhaps it was not so astounding that Gadreel should persist beyond his supposed final act.

"Why are you here?"

"I do not know, Sam. I was pulled in this direction."

For a moment, Sam thought he was being taken completely literally, regarding how he had tugged Gadreel from his begging post to the car.

"You still got your juice?" Sam sighed, shaking his head to bury any creepy questions about Gadreel being drawn towards him.

"Yes. My grace is intact."

"I suppose that is something. And the dude, is he still in there, living one of your holodeck fantasy worlds?" The question was asked with more bitterness than Sam intended.

"No. No, he, he didn't make it." Gadreel gulped and looked to the far chain-link fence.

Sam harrumphed. He slammed the trunk. His anger spiked for the poor schmuck who had lost his life as a casualty for the greater fight.

"Well, are you coming?" Sam barked.

Gadreel stared with comically wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

"You think I am going to leave a rogue angel loose at Lincoln Airport? Get the Hell into to car."

The angel scrambled round to the shotgun side. Sam winced as he caught sight of worn through trainers, maybe found in a garbage bag. As Gadreel adjusted his body into the seat, Sam became uncomfortably aware that his passenger needed a shower as a matter of urgency.

"Mojo present, but faulty?"

"Excuse me?" Gadreel was nonplussed by the question and the seatbelt catch.

Sam rolled his eyes as he leaned sideways to assist.

"Automated dry clean?"

"Oh?" Gadreel plucked at the neck of his chocolate brown tee. He sniffed rather dramatically, before inspecting his clothing as if only in that moment he became aware of his garments. "I smell appalling."

"You stink." Sam's lips twitched unbidden into a semi-smile.

A marginal glow to his right got Sam flicking his eyes from the car park exit. Gadreel was in similar attire but his clothes looked new. He was clean shaven. The normal Impala aromas were augmented by a familiar bonus of fresh woody sap and clean petrichor.

"Huh," Sam huffed, tongue rolling into his cheek.

Gadreel squinted at him, "Is this acceptable?"

"What? Sure, Man, it's good." Sam stayed silent until they reached the highway. "In the bunker, not the real one, y'know? The fake one when…"

"When I was in control." Gadreel stated baldly in a monotone voice.

"Then." Sam shifted uncomfortably. What was he doing with his fricking captor in the car? The angel who had healed him as promised, who had blown himself to pieces for their and Castiel's cause, who might want to jump into his bones right now to make himself at home again, to render Sam clueless and into a state where he felt he was losing his precious grip on reality once more.

"Sam?"

Gadreel's voice pulled him back. He had almost missed his turn off.

Expelling a long slow breath, Sam picked up where he had halted. "That scent… it surrounded me when… It was like the outdoors had come inside… it would tingle my senses," He huffed at his own susceptibility, "I freaking looked up ghost residues and paranormal clairalience crapola in the fake illusionary bunker library."

"I know. I remember."

"It was you? The scent of your grace?"

Gadreel nodded. "Grace in its pure form is beyond human comprehension, yet your minds will perceive it as light, substance, sound, and flavor."

"I get it." Sam shuddered, shaking out memories of ancient packed ice, solar winds, and lightning strike ozone choking the back of his throat. "Fresh pruned twigs, rain, and growing trees – better and surprising."

"I was the gatekeeper of The Garden." Gadreel's head dropped. He became fascinated by his upturned palms.

"I was there." Sam remarked.

"You were?"

"Part of upstairs' schemes to make us play our End of Days' roles. Expressway elevator ride courtesy of Zachariah. I have to say, Dude, The Garden wasn't all that impressive. Cleveland Botanical Gardens and not when they are in bloom."

Gadreel's shoulders shook. He issued a throaty laugh.

Sam threw him a disbelieving look, about to ask if he was seriously laughing. He shut his mouth when the angel spoke.

"Remember what I said about human perception?"

"Joshua said that too." Sam nodded.

"Joshua." Gadreel said in a hushed drawn out whisper. With a choked pained noise he asked, "He remains?"

"Well, he did before the civil war and the fall." Sam was about to speculate on the likelihood of Heaven's gardener surviving through chaos, but he saw a sad hope in Gadreel's eye, and could not do it.

"I had hope. In the early times, before it was extracted from me, that perhaps Joshua would…" Gadreel's voice dried up. He coughed. "My crime was deemed too heinous by all."

Sam's lips drew tight. He huffed with a shrug. "The forgiveness of Heaven, huh, doesn't work for heavenly beings."

"I gave him access, let him in…" Gadreel shook his head. "It is a very old story."

"The oldest." Sam quirked a grin. Meeting Gadreel's eye, he added ruefully, "I opened the final seal and I let him in…"

"No. Sam. You must not compare. You saved the world. You sacrificed…"

"And you didn't?" Sam found irrational anger flaring inside. "You should be atomic particles now. Don't think I have forgotten a moment of what happened, but just because you have done wrong, does not drown out the right."

"You have depth of soul."

Sam laughed. "I presume that was a compliment."

"You would be correct." Gadreel inclined his head.

Their strange conversation lapsed. Sam flicked on the radio, and away from classic rock, finding smooth inoffensive classical to break the silence. Gadreel twisted his body, finding groves that many years of Sam snoozes had impressed in the shotgun seat.

Turning South at Red Cloud, Sam was on the final stretch home. He stole a glance right, asking silently if he knew what he was doing in bringing the angel back to the bunker.


	2. Suspension

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_"__Don't make me sad, don't make me cry, Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough, I don't know why."_ Born to Die, Lana Del Rey.

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Sam placed a bowl of Kraft Mac and Cheese and a bottle of beer on the ground outside Dean's bedroom door. He straightened up with a sigh. The MOL 1951 Cadillac Coupe, Dean's pet project, gathered dust in the garage. The array of spell work texts that Sam had begun to comb through for leads remained in neat piles on the library table. If Dean had ventured out, there was no immediate evidence.

"Dean?" He knocked.

There was no reaction. Sam swallowed. He did not want to break the door down, but he needed to know that his brother had not vanished.

"Dean?" He rapped his knuckles again. "Dean?"

Feeling like an idiotic slow-mo impression of Sheldon Cooper, Sam leaned his shoulder against the door. "Dean? Dean, I'm back… You in there, Man?"

Chair legs scraped on the floor. Sam expelled a small sigh of relief. He guessed his brother was present, alive and not laying on the bed. He would prefer if Dean took his desire for solitude to target practice, the garage, or at this stage even the dusty crates of whiskey bottles. Shove it all down, deny it, and engage in perpetual motion were Dean's normal ways of dealing; continuous hunts, a spike in pie consumption, snarky remarks of repressed anger, hitting bars hard, crossing the country at his Baby's wheel. Understandably the threat of losing control to the Mark of Cain meant that Dean was consciously avoiding anything that could make him slip.

Sam got it. The sensation of demon blood pulsing through his veins empowering him, making him feel like he was invincible, and wrong, so very very wrong, was etched in his memory. For Sam there had been terrifying exhilaration. With Dean it was plain terrifying. When Sam closed his eyes, late at night slumped in a library chair, projected onto the back of his eyelids was the image of blood splattered and confused Dean surrounded by the men he had slaughtered. He would do anything, any-freaking-thing, to help his brother get through this, but for now, Dean was not letting him in. Coming out for a _chick flick_ talk was not on Dean's agenda.

"There's food outside, when you're ready." Sam bit the fleshy inside of his lip. Should he tell Dean that there was an angel hovering in their kitchen? He shook his head. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. "Right then. Good."

Strain must have played across his face, because when he returned to the kitchen, Gadreel tilted his head and squinted at Sam.

"Where is Dean?"

"He's in his room." Sam tried for his best expressionless face, hoping Gadreel would have mercy and not probe for details.

The angel nodded. He took a step closer to the table, making way for Sam to enter the room properly. Gadreel had not sat down, nor leaned against the counter, or removed his hoodie. He looked as uncomfortable and as awkward as a destitute homeless angel could in the home of the guy whose body he had possessed for months without his consent.

"Dean attacked you here." Sam blinked away the memory of Mark of Cain enraged Dean slashing Gadreel with the first blade.

The angel's hand drifted to his midsection.

"Wrongs were committed." He paused, leaving the acts he had committed under Metatron's direction unsaid. A slight smile played on his lips, eyes softening as if happy for Sam, "Yet, Dean made it. Metatron was neutralized."

Realizing that Gadreel's knowledge ended mid-action of their two pronged attack plan, Winchesters to take out God's Scribe while Castiel smashed the Angel Tablet, Sam nodded. "Metatron didn't die…."

The words caught in Sam's throat.

Metatron lived.

Dean died.

Sam had carried his brother's lifeless body from that place, had brought him home…

Gadreel did not notice that Sam's thoughts had strayed. He tapped his ear to signify angel radio. "I heard. He is imprisoned."

Sam clenched his jaw. He did not want to relive the nightmare of summoning Crowley, or walking into Room 11, finding only that note…

"Sam?"

"I'm good." Sam lied. "Give me a moment."

Marching to the stove, Sam stared down at congealed Mac and Cheese. Its shiny skin mocked him, mocked his ability to take care of his brother, or anyone or anything.

Gadreel stood statue-like, waiting, observing, and almost hesitant to move.

"Dean made it. In a way." A burst of pain issued a bark of self-derisive laughter masked in a mutated single sob. Sam gripped the worktop tight enough to redden his fingertips.

The angel was at his side, inches of space between them, a barrier of air and inapproachability dividing them. Sam did not flinch or move away. Gadreel's hand lifted. Sam watched as it wrapped around his bicep and squeezed just the right amount of silent support. After a few beats whirling desperation stilled to a raw basement wound. The hunter picked up the spoon to stir his meal.

"You want some? It's from a box and sorta burnt."

"I do not require sustenance, Sam." The angel released his hold and took a pace to the side.

"I'm not hungry." Sam caught the pot, shoving it under the faucet and tipping the chunky mix into the basin. "How about a whiskey?"

Gadreel raised his brows.

"In the library?" Sam suggested, walking that direction, leaving Gadreel to follow on his heels. Digging out the good stuff and two heavy lead crystal glasses, Sam poured two fingers into each.

Without any protest about angelic immunity to alcohol, Gadreel took the proffered glass and copied Sam in downing the burning liquor.

"Why did you take me?"

"What?" Sam puffed.

"Why did you return with me to here? To hold me here?"

"No. No, I don't know why? I just… I couldn't leave you there. You needed somewhere." Sam floundered to explain it any better.

"It was a kindness." Gadreel's head tilted in query and an effort at comprehension. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Sam's lips parted, taken aback. He had no prepared answer. Because no one got left behind? Because it went against Sam's nature to be unnecessarily cruel? Because Gadreel had proved his bona fides? Because there was so much water under the bridge that it seemed churlish to hold grudges? Because Sam was a fool who was willing to give out second chances like candy? Knowing Winchester Luck the last option was the jackpot.

"Because I'm a wuss," Sam laughed in self-mockery, "A woman once kidnapped me, tied me to her bed, drugged me, forced me to marry her, dealt with a demon, and when we parted, do you know what I said to her?"

"You forgave her." Gadreel stated as if he was certain that was truth.

"I wouldn't quite say that." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I told her she was a good person."

With a gentle smile Gadreel quoted, "To err is human, to forgive, divine."

Sam chuffed, "I don't know whether to be surprised by your poetry knowledge, to be baffled by our return to the myth of heavenly forgiveness, or to be muddled by my placement in the divine category."

"Perhaps all three are acceptable." Gadreel commented, taking control of the whiskey and pouring precisely the same volume into each glass. "Perhaps it is evidence of your good soul."

"My soul?" Sam scoffed. "That chewtoy?"

"Yes, that strong enduring compassionate one." Gadreel lifted his glass.

Sam stared as the angel raised his whiskey to eye level, toasting Sam's soul. Unsure if he was meant to reciprocate by toasting Gadreel's resurrected grace, Sam settled for wetting his lips. "Y'know, people say they have been through the wringer?"

The angel nodded, easing back into his library chair to listen.

"I feel that Dean and I, we have been pulled and strung through endless… does it ever stop?"

"I understand." Gadreel intoned solemnly.

Sam huffed. He lifted his head, seeing absolute sincerity in the green eyes meeting his. "Y'know, I think that you do."

The air seemed taffy like, as if something had shifted between them. Sam would have said they had cleared the air, but that did not express the curious atmospheric shift. It wasn't like when old foes bury the hatchet and part with a handshake, or when friends make up and go out for a beer to mend fences. This was weird and unfamiliar, a settling of comfortable companionable silence that Sam was almost nervous to pick at for fear it would shatter. He recognized it as similar to down times with Dean, to rare times when he had allowed pause to relax, to chill. Was he chilling with Gadreel? It seemed preposterous, yet Sam was loath to relinquish this moment of calm.

"Where'd'you want to sleep?" Sam eventually asked.

"I don't sleep."

"You can't wander the halls all night. Not happening." Sam referred to Gadreel's habits while he had occupied Sam.

Gadreel's brow shot up, "How do you remember this?"

"I caught glimpses. Thought I was dreaming or sleepwalking. Put two and two together after…"

"I will not wander."

Sam twisted his lip. He believed the promise, but there was the possibility that Dean would wander, even if only to take another hour long shower or to filch Bing Bongs from the freezer.

"What room do you want?" Sam persisted.

"I would like to spend the night in the gallery?" Gadreel's pitch rose beseeching permission. His gaze flitted upwards to the telescope.

"All night?" Sam blurted, his brain spewing forth the question rather than the assent he had intended. "It's cool. No problem. It's kinda neat up there."

"I would take a chair…"

"That's fine, and there are some soft…"

"… rugs and throws in the linen storage."

"Take one." Sam gestured towards the distant room in compliance.

"Cold does not affect me, but I will do so. Thank you, Sam."

"Good night, Gadreel." Sam eased his body out of his chair.

"Good night. Sleep well, Sam."

For the first time, in a long time, defying his own expectation of restless unease, Sam did sleep long, sound and deep.

He woke to his brother's loud screeching. "What the ever living fuck? Sam!"


	3. Break

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_"When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye."_ Creep, Radiohead.

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"Seriously, Sam? Seriously?" Dean exclaimed. "You found him begging at the airport?"

"Yes, Dean." Sam's jaw jutted stubbornly. He was holding onto his frayed patience while Dean parroted back salient points in the form of questions.

"And you thought it a bang up idea to bring him here?" Dean waved his arms about encompassing the bunker and the angel braced against an art deco pillar.

It was clearly not a rhetorical question. Dean's eyes piercingly waited for his little brother to answer. If their whole kit and caboodle situation wasn't so far down the toilet, Sam might have indulged the flicker which his brain supplied of a similar expression on ten-year-old Dean's freckled face as he demanded why Sam had eaten all their peanut butter. In this confrontational mood, the older Winchester did not have tolerance for wooly uncooked explanations.

"Obviously." Sam sighed, pushing away niggling doubts. His eyes tracked Dean's hand as it rubbed his Henley sleeve up and down over the Mark of Cain. Was Dean conscious he was making such motion?

"Why? Don't we have enough crap stacked high on our plates?" Dean glared.

Sam bit his tongue, tempted to fall into bickering where he'd say something he would regret, maybe about how some of that crap involved wondering if Dean lose patience and find an angle grinder to cut off his own arm, or disappear…

"I will leave." Gadreel volunteered, breaking the thick silence. He straightened up and took two paces towards the exit.

Sam slammed his arm out sideways to halt him. "No, you won't."

"He wants to go." Dean challenged. "Leave him go."

"Dean, he has nowhere to go."

"Well, I don't know," Dean jeered, "how about… Heaven?"

"I fear I would not be welcome by many."

"Do you?" Dean practically snarled. "Where have you been for the last whatever months?"

Gadreel tilted his head but did not immediately answer.

Dean continued, "You've been hiding, haven't you? Yellow belied skulking at the fringes of humanity?"

"Dean!" Sam blurted. Dean could be harsh at times, but that was an assumption.

"No, Sam. Your brother is not wrong." Gadreel took a deep breath, "It was prudent to exist where I would not attract attention. It was difficult to…"

Sam winced at the use of the term 'exist'.

Dean however laughed a cold bitter rattle. "Not so plain and simple when it's your ass, is it? Not such fun then, huh? Maybe you had better go, after all the bunker isn't a place of safety. You got Cas coming back any day, and a Knight of Hell. Not safe here, Buddy. And this time Castiel is not getting put out in the cold, you hear me?"

"I would be happy to see Castiel." Gadreel pushed back his shoulders adopting an even more angel-regimented pose.

"Would you? This time?" Dean snorted.

"Guys, what is this about?" Sam huffed. He felt like the aforementioned Castiel when he failed to get a popular culture reference, like his brother and Gadreel were speaking in some sort of angry code.

Gadreel answered, meeting Sam's eye. "When I was here the first time, Castiel came seeking refuge and a place of safety. It is to my shame and sorrow that I would not risk my, nor your, life. I used the excuse that Castiel's enemies might attack this location but in actuality I feared that he would know that I was not Ezekiel, perhaps recognize me, and it was too soon, my wounds were dreadful, your cellular burns only beginning to heal. I feared you would find out and expel me."

Sam screwed up his brow in recollection and swiveled to his brother, "You said Cas wanted to leave." He glanced back to Gadreel, "Are you two telling me that you both kicked him out?"

"It was you or him." Dean tried. "I was between a rock and a …"

"I can't believe it." Sam tugged at his hair, "Dean, you said he wanted to go. Oh my God."

"I know, but it was your life or his, Sammy."

"Neither of you could trust him? Did you ever think of telling him? Letting him in on the terrible secret of my…" Sam choked. "I am not having this conversation with either of you."

"I will go." Gadreel's head dropped despondently.

"Just…" Sam sighed long and his shoulders sagged. "Just go and wander the halls would you, Gadreel? And Dean go freaking eat some breakfast."

"What are you gonna do?" Dean's arms hung by his sides, unsure.

"I'm calling Cas." Sam threw as his parting shot and marched to his bedroom, strides of temper or frustration eating distance down the long halls. It was pointless being angry now about that had happened to him. Dean dying in his arms, struck through by Metatron, had erased an awful lot of wrongs. He had forgiven his brother. Hearing Gadreel's story and coming to terms with what happened, had brought him pretty much full way to forgiving the angel too. However when the wrong, the injustice, was perpetrated on another, Sam Winchester found it hard to forgive. Maybe it was how he had been raised, to hunt Azazel for vengeance, to fight on behalf of the victims of the supernatural, or maybe it was his internal moral compass, but hearing that Castiel had suffered because of Dean and Gadreel's plan left a bitter vile taste in Sam's mouth.

Looking into the black reflective surface of his TV, Sam brought Cas's contact details up. Of course, the universe proved as Anti-Winchester as normal, and Sam only got Castiel's fumbled growly request to leave a voicemail.

"Hey Cas. It's Sam. Don't freak out. Dean is... he is the same. We got no new leads." Sam gulped. "I found Gadreel. He's here at the bunker. Just, y'know, giving you the heads up before you come back, Man. You know you're welcome anytime, you don't need a reason… We'll see you soon… huh, text me... and take care of yourself."

A precisely timed triple knock sounded on his door.

For some reason, Sam shot looks to the four corners of his bedroom, checking if it was presentable to receive guests. He huffed an ironic self-mocking laugh. He was checking for the person who had lived in this room for months, in his body.

"Come in, Gadreel."

The door opened slowly. The angel appeared bearing one of the tall latte glasses they had purloined from various coffee shops. It was filled with milky coffee and chocolate goodness.

"I brought you a mocha. The way you prefer, with whipped cream from the aerosol mechanism."

"Coffee is always good."

Taking another step inside, Gadreel commented. "Some of the doors have been replaced."

Sam chuckled and swung his head sardonically. "About that… don't ask."

"I will not."

"You know what I like about you?" Sam smirked.

"No?"

"I know you won't pry, won't needle." He took the proffered whipped cream coffee concoction, noticing Dean's trademark 'forgive me' marshmallows. "Thank you."

"Did you reach Castiel?"

"No." Sam took a long slurp of cream, giving his top lip a cream-tache. He licked it clean as Gadreel watched in fascination. "Would you like a taste?"

"No, thank you. It is for you."

"Sit." Sam gestured at the sole chair which bore a couple pairs of jeans folded over the back. Gadreel's ungainly easing onto the seat pegged his alien nature, but it was an improvement on statuesque standing to attention. "Could you contact Cas, like on angel radio?"

Gadreel paused before answering, giving Sam time to savor his drink.

"It would be inadvisable. I was veracious about my reception from other angels. To broadcast my presence and location would not only attract those who hold me in enmity but also put you and Dean in peril. However, I trust your judgment, Sam. If you maintain that making contact with my brother is sine qua non then I am willing to attempt it."

"No, Man, we got phones." Sam smiled. "Cas will return my call or show up."

"I believe that by handing me your beverage, Dean has accepted your decision on my continued presence."

"Hole in one." Sam nodded. "For now."

"A stay of execution, then?"

"I guess." Placing his glass to the side, Sam looked at his DVD selection, then at the angel. "You want, I could check on Dean, then we could watch some TV?"

Gadreel nodded, his face changing from wary blankness to tentative pleasure.

"Any show you fancy?"

"Game of Thrones?"

Sam laughed. "Good choice. If Dean doesn't fancy a rewatch, we'll get all the snacks."

Sam found his brother in conciliatory mood, the end of his morning coffee going cold as he hunched over his laptop on the War Room table.

"Greenlease Library at Rockhurst University in Kansas City, Sam."

"Huh? You got a lead? On the Mark?"

"Wouldn't call it a lead. And Jeez, would you look at your face. It's adorable the way your eyes light up at the word Library, like some freaking Pavlovian response." Before Sam could retort to the fond slur, Dean flicked the screen with his fingernail. "They got a translation of that Aramaic text on biblical rivers."

Switching one hundred percent into hunt mode, Sam shelved his downtime plans. "Great. That's great. We can stop for gas in Lebanon. I'll tell Gadreel we are heading out. Should get this turned around in one day."

"Hold up." Dean closed the laptop lid. "You don't gotta come."

"Dean." Sam huffed.

"No. Listen. This taking what Meta-dick said literally, it's clutching at straws. And Hell, I know we gotta clutch at anything, but we're just clearing the minor league possibilities off the chessboard here."

Sam snickered at the stew of metaphors, "Dean, come on. Metatron is a devious mofo. I wouldn't put it past him to actually mean you had to swim in or cast the blade into some godforsaken millennia dry riverbed."

"And that's why we," Dean gave a concessionary nod, "Mostly you, have been immersed in Lethe, Styx, Nile, and ancient watery lore… but this isn't a two man job. If there's a clue I'll bring the transcript back here."

Sam glared at his big brother.

"Stop bitchfacing me. I know you hate stealing from libraries." Dean chuckled. "Hitting the road at Baby's wheel will do me good. Gotta make sure you didn't screw with her on your Hail Mary trip for Garth."

The younger Winchester felt his eye roll was totally justified.

"Stay and watch over, or amuse, your angel."

"He's not 'my' angel, Dean." Sam peeved. "We'll do it your way, but you find anything, any clue, you call me."

"I'll flip the bird to any 'Silence in the Library' signs, scouts honor."

"You were never a scout." Sam grumbled, but he conceded to his brother's need to go work, do, seek, after days of being cooped up in the bunker.

Making sure that Dean knew he could change his mind, Sam saw him off at the Impala with a good luck wish before heading back to Gadreel. The angel had waited patiently, yet was eager enough to hand Sam the boxset as soon as he was filled in on Dean's whereabouts.

When Thrones gave way to a National Lampoons marathon, Sam made popcorn. He threw two sachets in the microwave, figuring he'd eat it as an unhealthy brunch if his companion declined. Gadreel chewed the snacks so slowly, the hunter expected the shallow bowl to be pushed towards him with a comment about not needing sustenance. As the movie continued and Gadreel followed Sam's lead in dipping in for more salty buttery popped kernels, Sam noticed where he took a handful and tipped his head back to fill his mouth, the other took only one piece. The only strange reasoning he could parse was that an effort to consume was being made on his behalf. When the credits rolled, Sam was startled to realize that he had paid more attention to Gadreel's snack eating motivations than the old favorite on screen. Sam had also noticed that the first Lampoon comedy had gone down well with Gadreel's lips twitching and a few shared huffs of enjoyment. The angel seemed satisfied to roll with the outrageous acts of the Griswold family without picking holes or seeking the screenplay's philosophical reasoning. While Clark Griswold won his family a vacation in Europe, Sam disappeared to knock up a huge plate of cheese and salsa drenched nachos. He checked his phone but the sole text was a snarky, not funny, Dean message that he hadn't killed anyone at the library, the book was irrelevant, and he would drive back that evening. He would be late but did Sam want take out? The normality of the query made Sam gladly tap out a reply that he was good but they needed Doritos.

Sam brought a couple of beers with the platter of nachos. Gadreel chugged contentedly on a bottle from Sam's stash of Boulevard Pale Ale, commenting that he found the alcoholic beverage surprisingly acceptable.

Turned out, Gadreel had a sense of humor and a hearty laugh. A string of cheese spooling out to gossamer thinness connected a nacho between his fingers and Sam's hand. When the elastic thread snapped curling in delicate slow motion midair to dangle in spirals from Sam's thumb, the angel's vocal laughter sounded for the first time.

As the movie became more farcical, infectious mirth spread forth tickling Sam's funny bone and making the hunter grin wider each time Gadreel threw his head back to chortle. If he was human Sam would have presumed it was mild intoxication. The only conclusion he could rationally make was that as the hours had gone by, Gadreel had let down his guard and had relaxed in Sam's presence, and honestly Sam was tickled that he could entice such a thing to happen.

"How surreal is my life?" Sam wondered not for the first time, after he had back clapped his guest goodnight. Heading for the vast bunker bathroom, while Gadreel walked in the opposite direction, Sam huffed in amazement that he too had let his guard down. Sitting there laughing, being himself, taking a minor break, without pressure, had felt good. Knots that had been winding and binding Sam vice tight with tension slackened their hold.


	4. Opening

_Second chapter in as many days. The previous one was mostly written before the mid season premiere aired. This story is canon divergent but I wanted to see episode ten before I posted to ensure that I hadn't taken a wildly different path to the show at this point. The Mark of Cain, and how it impacts Sam, plays a part in this story because that is where our beloved hunters are focused, but this tale is ultimately more about the characters than the MOC quest. Thank you to those reading. I hope you have been and will continue to enjoy._

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_"__Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart." _Wake me up, Avicii

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Gadreel adapted to the routine of life in the bunker with an ease that evoked a quiet gladness in Sam. Over the days that followed their TV 'day off' in Sam's bedroom, their time concentrated in the library. Sam and Dean kept an eye on their regular web newsfeeds for any likely hunts but nothing pinged their radar. Continuous research was some special sort of torture according to Dean, who disappeared for long stretch breaks or to check his car, assisted by his new argument that they had an extra mind filtering through the MOL files now. It could have been discouraging that they continued to draw blanks on anything to do with the Mark, and that any references to Cain and Abel were biblical and Gnostic standard fare. Their only slightly viable plan was Dean's tenuous 'find Cain and gank the bastard' one. Sam was sure that if Cain was no longer in Missouri they could enlist Crowley to locate him. Finding out if killing Cain was as simple as gutting him with the First Blade was whole other kettle of piranha fish. Also it was possible that offing the original Knight would make things worse. For all they knew that act could bump Dean up the Knight pecking order. Sinking into a reading chair with a long neck beer, trashy lawyer fiction book to pick pre-law knowledge holes in, while Gadreel in the high winged chair opposite leafed though his choice from Sam's old storage boxes of sci-fi fantasy favorites, was a perfect way to end long days of heavy duty research. There was no need for conversation except the occasional welcome question to clarify that yes hobbits had hairy feet or that humans had not invented robotic babelfish yet.

On the morning when distant muffled sounds of gunshot came from the target range, Sam could not repress a buoyant mood that had him dragging Gadreel outside to join him on his daily hike. That tiny sign that Dean was holding on, building his resistance to the Mark, was a crumb of hope.

On their return Sam headed straight for the kitchen for rehydration. Juicing their oranges with a few overripe veggies, Sam watched Gadreel slicing through a couple of hardening lemons that had been at the back of the refrigerator.

"You think you could peel that nub of ginger root too?" Sam asked.

Gadreel quirked his lips as a pleased affirmative and turned to grab the ginger revealing that his running gear looked like he had yet to leave the building. Sam, on the other hand, had sweat beads clinging to the ends of his hair and both sides of his top bore a long vee of perspiration.

"How come I look like one of those poor wretches who collapse in the Olympic stadium on the last lap of the marathon and you look like a model for American Track and Field?" Sam good naturedly grumbled as he reached for shaker pint glasses.

"You do not." Gadreel firmly contradicted. "I found joining you for the human experience of stretching my muscles in the bracing air agreeably novel and one I would wish to repeat."

"Yeah?" Sam nodded slowly. "Well, that's good, I think. I run most days if wanna come."

Invigorating juices consumed, Gadreel volunteered to clean up while Sam showered. Initially Sam had protested to their guest mucking in, while Dean had made some smart alec comment about Grace use and Mary Poppins. Gadreel neither rose to Dean's bait nor permitted Sam to treat him with kid gloves. He took chores that needed to be done and could been seen mopping the floor just as often as one of the brothers. He had yet to venture into food preparation, or take out retrieval. With a self-mocking huff at his ability to burn water, Sam thought of how he was hardly the one to show more than juice or salad prep to the angel. Still it was gratifying how Gadreel was prepared to try any food that Sam placed in front of him.

With things ticking along easily, Sam was blindsided when Dean shoved him into an empty bedroom on his way back from his blissfully hot long shower.

"What the hell?" Sam spurted, grabbing at his towel, and losing his bundle of clothes to the dusty floor.

"Why is he wearing your clothes?"

It took a moment for Sam's brain to catch up. "Gadreel?"

"No. Pope freaking Francis."

"We went for a run. We wear the same size. What business is it of yours?" Sam bristled.

"And what's with the eating? Why are you bringing him sandwiches? Are we grocery shopping for three now?"

"What is your problem? You can't seriously be freaking out about slices of bread, lettuce and shredded turkey?" Sam tried to bore holes through his brother's thick skull. He hated that they were in the situation where he fretted about the motivation behind this surprise intervention. Was Dean being contrary or was he getting riled up to lose his temper?

"Why is he aping being human? He's not. Isn't there angel crap he could be doing? How long is he going to hang around drinking our beer and washing our socks?" Dean asked with indignation.

With a light bulb moment dawning, Sam laughed. "He's not washing socks. You are being ridiculous."

"Sam…"

"I get it." Sam raised his palm. "No, honestly Dean, I do get it. This is about Cas."

Dean squawked.

"Why don't you call him, Dean?"

"He is doing his own thing. He's busy." Dean muttered. "I'm not dragging him here for nothing."

It would be pointless to say to his emotionally repressed brother that missing Cas and wanting to see him was not nothing. Having Gadreel there must have rubbed salt into the wound that sometimes Sam had glimpsed. Dean liked to keep his family close, but Castiel kept leaving. There were valid, sometimes end of the world reasons for Castiel's departures. Having one angel be satisfied to remain at MOL HQ must have been grating on Dean. On top of that, their conversation a few days earlier had dragged out of Dean's buried painful memory box the events of when newly human Cas had been turned away.

"How about a council of war?" Sam suggested.

"A what now?" Dean squinted suspiciously.

"Gadreel was around at the Beginning, like maybe as long as Metatron. Cas' garrison must have seen so much. We've got our lore here, including Bobby's library which I haven't fully catalogued yet. Ask him to brainstorm with us?" Sam shivered under his towel. "I'm gonna put on clothes. I'll text him if you want."

"No," Dean's voice lifted. "I'll text him."

Dean barreled out the door and headed for his room.

"You just want emoticons." Sam shouted after him.

Dean raised one finger high above his head.

Later Dean expressed his happiness at Castiel's acceptance by making patties for burgers from scratch, blithely ignoring Sam's questions about the contents of their text messages, and plopping his dirty boots on the library table to knock back his beer. With Dean content, Sam pulled Gadreel aside to fill him in on his idea.

"When Cas gets here, I thought we could combine our knowledge, bounce ideas around, and come up with some new lines of enquiry about the Mark." Sam gestured with his hands.

"You want my assistance in this?" Gadreel looked puzzled.

"Man, you have been assisting. This time we are going to brainstorm. You never know what lateral thinking will spark or what memories could be helpful." Sam tapped at his own head.

Gadreel flinched. "I would not have any relevant memories."

In concern, Sam laid his palm on the angel's forearm. "The Mark is an ancient curse. Maybe there is something from those times…"

"I don't remember." The words were stilted, forced out.

Gadreel was lying to him. Sam was sure. "It may only be something small, by questioning each other…"

"I was gone. The events with Cain, they happened after. I had no involvement. You are bringing Castiel here to interrogate me." Gadreel accused rapid fire. His hands clenched to fists but his action was not due to anger. Sam recognized fear.

"I'm not. Honestly, Gadreel, no one is interrogating anyone. Believe me." Sam beseeched.

Green eyes met his and set there.

"You aren't reading my mind, are you?" Sam froze. He could not, would not allow such a violation. If the angel had crossed that line in his fear, then the slowly building trust between them was about to crumble to the ground.

"I do not need to enter your mind to know you are genuine, Sam." Gadreel sagged. "I have frightened you."

Sam shrugged it off. "And I have given you the impression that you are not safe here. The wrong impression."

"If I did have knowledge that would help, I would share it. You would not need to set Castiel or Dean to work on me. Not need to subject me to…"

The angel stopped. His face paled. The vacancy in his eyes told that he was back there, in his Heavenly prison cell, reliving God knew what.

"You do not need to say it." Sam reached forward, steadying Gadreel's shoulder with his hand. He squeezed tight, pulling him back to the present. "I have memories I do not wish to revisit, but if there is some nugget lodged in my grapefruit I would drag it to the surface, because it is for Dean. I don't expect you to scrape through the unimaginable, but I am asking for your help."

Holding his breath, Sam's chest ached before Gadreel answered. It was a big ask. Getting his brother back had consumed Sam for months of a living nightmare. He had almost shattered when he had seen black eyes staring at him on a small store security feed. He had picked and gnawed at the fringes of his Cage memories, trying to force his mind to find any reference to Cain and Abel, the Fall of Man, the demonizing of Lilith, but all was consumed in fire and blood. There were other memories Sam shied away from, of battling against the exhilaration and completeness when he and Lucifer were one. They were unbearable because of the vast inexplicable sorrow that they evoked. His thoughts and the fallen archangel's had merged, but Lucifer's focus had not wandered back then. However it was possible that together he or one of the others would be able to bring to the surface something forgotten by any of them, just as when Dean would quip a movie quote and Sam could see a film that he had forgotten about play out in his mind.

Gadreel cleared his throat.

"I will offer what I can, Sam, but there are places I cannot go." The angel copied Sam's motion to cup the hunter's shoulder. "For you, I will hide nothing. You will have my truth, such as it is, but I plead for your understanding."

Overwhelmed, staggered by the weight of that plea, Sam nodded with feeling. He swallowed hard, meaning every word, "You've got it, and my support, Gadreel."


	5. Exchange

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_"__So show me Family, all the blood that I would bleed. I don't know where I belong. I don't know where I went wrong."_ _Ho Hey_, The Lumineers

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"What do you want to do, Sam?"

"Huh? I thought we could start on these Enochian tracts from Bobby's stash. You can read the Enochian ones and I'll do the translations. That should keep us occupied until Cas arrives."

They were in a temperature and humidity controlled storage room. Sam had to give the Men of Letters credit where it was due. They knew how to take care of their toys. A simple copperplate on the door "Nam Libris" had set Sam's heart racing when he had discovered the room. It contained many ancient tomes, but its shelves were half empty as if the compilation of this sub-library was a work in progress. It was perfect for storing Bobby's legacy, retrieved from storage units and Jody's safekeeping.

"You misunderstand me." Gadreel bent to take slim leather bound volumes from the packing crate Sam gestured towards. "I wish to enquire about your plans."

Mouth set in a grim line, Sam stated. "Plan is to get that vile thing off Dean's arm."

Gadreel reached forward, hand grazing the pale white-blue plaid of the other's sleeve, "Sam."

"What?"

"Loathe though I am to remind you of my wrongs. What of your plans to make this place a bastion for young hunters? What of your thoughts of taking a step back, of studying by distance or part-time at a university?"

Sam balked. Not at the reference to his inner secrets, or that Gadreel was privy to them, but at the reminder of his foolishness. He hissed painfully, "Pipe dreams, burned up by reality."

"They do not have to be. You are allowed to be happy, Sam."

Gadreel's sincerity cut like a knife reopening an old wound. Sam shook his head.

"Listen, Man. I've gone down that road before and more times than not it's ended bloody. I grew up. I shoulder my responsibilities. I know what is important, what my priorities are, and I'll take happy when I can get it, but…"

Gadreel interrupted. "It is possible to modify your dreams and expectations, to shoulder great responsibilities, to travel a different path, and to have happiness. They are not mutually exclusive."

"A wise person once told me that I could choose the life I wanted to live. He helped me strive for my dreams. Years later, despite all that had happened, I got a chance to thank him." Sam huffed wryly, remembering he was hopped up on demon blood and enmeshed in Ruby's lies at the time. "The tables had turned. My eyes had been opened. He was the naive one asking about happiness."

"I have seen you doing what you love. How you enjoy delving into the archives here. It is not wrong to take such enjoyment."

"That's not what I meant, and not what you asked." Sam clicked his tongue and attempted to end the discussion. "Dean is more pressing."

"Hope is a beacon. What hopes we hold dear, they are what sustain us with strength to carry on."

"That is a lovely sentiment, Gadreel."

The angel glared. "It is not sentiment. It is truth."

Startled by the passionate statement, Sam focused all his attention on the angel.

"I hear you. Without my hope, my faith in Dean, the struggle, this fight would be unbearable. I believe in the power of trying. We have beaten unbeatable odds before."

"Yet, Sam, even the hardiest solider must take his rest, must have his sanctuary, and a beacon to aim towards."

"And what's yours? What keeps you going?" Sam swung the conversation around, challenging as a form of defense.

Gadreel sank down to sit on the lid of a tall wooden crate. With a sigh he spoke softly, "You would not find it of interest."

"Why do you say that?" Sam blinked. His rush of ire dissipated as fast as it had surged. "I asked, didn't I?"

"It is a dark tale."

"And you think I got rainbows and puppies up here?" Sam jested, tapping his temple.

"Yes," Gadreel smiled kindly, "You do. So many memories of good times with your brother. Your achievements, friends you made on life's journey, memories of Jessica."

Sam gulped, sucker punched. Before his eyes appeared an image of Jess in Stanford Library, flicking back her curls, illicitly laughing out loud at some lame joke he had made. Internally he cried a protest not to mention her name, but what passed his lips was a bitter whisper.

"A lot of those memories turn sour."

"Yes. You understand." Gadreel intoned.

"I'm not sure that I do." Sam planted his butt on the free edge of the crate, shuffling sideways so that his companion had to make room. "Explain it to me."

Gadreel turned his face to meet Sam's inquiring gaze. He took a breath, turned his palms up open on his lap, and began.

"Hope can be pressed. It can be shrunk until infinitivally tiny. A seed inside your core until at last it is the final line before despair. A gossamer thread so thin dividing existence from permanent darkness. Hoarded and hidden a speck of faith that one day I would find the opportunity for some measure of redemption. That I would find a situation, other than my eternal punishment, where I would be able to do good, to demonstrate that I was not the nefarious creature they called me, not the evil they accused me of."

Sam bit down hard on his lip. Words spilled forth, unsaid, silent, but wanting to be spoken, of acts committed using Sam's hands, of the murder of Kevin Tran. Gadreel was lost in his telling. Sam curbed his instinct to lash out.

"There were times when my grip slipped. My wings broken and useless, stripped bare to the bone, those bones smashed, my grace in shards, never-ending discordant wavelengths…"

Sam could not fathom the horror of existing like that for eternities.

"For eons I was alone. Siblings came and went from the cells next to me, all there for their own crimes and disobediences, all believing my crime to be more heinous than theirs. Then Abner was condemned. He would speak through the cell wall. _Are you well, Brother?_ And I would find from somewhere impossible inside, the strength to form a response. _Yes, I have survived. _ For centuries we shared imprisonment and torture. We comforted one another with words, but also, Sam, by deeds, by the joining of our graces in acts forbidden, but we were already damned."

The look Gadreel gave Sam was one of a cowed man, prepared to be struck. Did he think Sam would hate due to his confession of his relationship with Abner, or was the angel caught in a flashback to Heaven's jail?

"Geez, I get it." Sam huffed sympathetically, "No condemnation here of taking comfort where it can be found."

Gadreel nodded slowly in appreciation of Sam's acceptance. "It was more than that. We kept each other alive." He paused briefly. "I loved him. When I had recovered, I thought of seeking him out. But I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to be worthy in his eyes. I took his vessel's name on a piece of paper. I went to that place unknowing. He was overjoyed to see me, and I him. My grace flared. He responded."

Sam filled the painful silence. "I don't know what to say."

"I killed him." Gadreel choked. "I put the greater good of Metatron's instructions above my heart, my instincts, my hope. I took the life of the one person who knew me and loved me. The person, who did not turn his back when I was at my lowest, trusted me and in return I extinguished his existence."

The tall straight backed angel crumpled in front of Sam. He hunched his shoulders, bodily wracked by all too human sobs.

Floundering, Sam placed his palm on the other's spine, stroking a slow tentative rhythm.

Gadreel buried his face in his hands. "I lost him and there is no one to blame but me. If I had not been released, if the angels had not fallen, then Abner, good kind Abner, would still be alive."

Taking initiative, Sam caught the round of Gadreel's shoulder, pulling him close. He felt Gadreel sorrow, guilt and loss.

"I killed him. Killing Abner was the worst thing I did, because I knew, deep down, I knew it was wrong. I trusted The Scribe and Abner paid the price." Gadreel stuttered through slackening sobs.

"Shush, shush," Sam crooned. He could not be sure when he had begun to rock the angel in his arms. The raw desperate grief made Sam hold on tighter. "You trusted the wrong side. Your mistake cost your friend, cost Kevin, their lives. Your regret won't bring them back, but I understand."

"Good people died." Gadreel spoke low.

"And you must live with that." Sam kept his voice even. "But you changed sides, Gadreel, and that counts for a lot."

"Seeing the error of my ways does not bring back Abner or the prophet."

"No." Sam sighed deeply in sorrow for Kevin.

"My Abner." Gadreel made a noise at the back of his throat, but his weeping had stopped. "I will bear the responsibility always."

Consoling Gadreel had thrown up a mess of emotional memories. Sam released the recovering angel from his cradling arms, but remained seated, sides pressed together.

"For a long time," the hunter cleared his throat, "and maybe part of me still… I believed that I was responsible. That my actions killed Jess."

Gadreel sucked air. He tilted his head to listen.

"For night after night I dreamed her death, foresaw it. I never warned her. I left her unprotected, undefended and unprepared." Sam snorted at his young naïve self. "Believing I was out from the hunting life, I did not test our friends with holy water, silver cutlery, or words of power. Our best friend was a demon."

Almost a decade old heartbreak ached inside.

"I was sure that if I had done things differently, she would be alive. I was forewarned and I ignored it, blundering on, not wanting to believe I was a psychic freak. I felt that her death was my fault. I hallucinated her on street corners. I was bereaved and wracked with guilt and anger."

"Sam, you did not kill her." Gadreel's hands covered Sam's.

"It felt like I had. It was a very long time before I could see that the responsibility for her death fell at the door of those who screwed with our lives to bring about the apocalypse. Fact remains that she died because of me and the plans for me. And I loved her, Gadreel." Sam stressed his words with the force of truth. "I loved her with every ounce of my being."

"I know you did."

"Everything, everybody, I touch, that I try to have a… dream of making a home with… a life… everyone I like… that I would cherish… they… it never ends well." Sam gulped hoping the angel understood his rambling references to other attempts from Amy to Amelia to beautiful special Sarah Blake. "I used to wonder if I am cursed. If being unclean… if I am a curse."

"Not cursed." Gadreel lifted Sam's hand to his lips, grazing touch between his knuckles.

Sam watched in fascination, feeling warm dry lips press softly to his skin.

"Changer of Destiny." Gadreel named the vulnerable hunter.

Sam smiled. He carefully withdrew his fingers from Gadreel's hold. "We make our own choices."

Gadreel's head dropped taking Sam's intended encouraging words to heart as reflecting on his grave mistakes rather than his more recent decisions.

Sam saw. He could not let Gadreel believe that interpretation. He cradled the clean shaven skin of the angel's cheek and jaw. Gadreel sank in to the affectionate touch. A gentle smile playing on his lips, Sam did not think beyond the moment. He leaned forward to caress.

Loud clashing pounding on the door made Sam jerk out of his reverie.

"Sam. What the freaking hell are you two doing in there? Writing the books?" Dean called with a note of cheer. "Cas is on his way. He'll be here by nightfall."

Muttering under his breath about bad timing, Sam rose to his feet. He extended a hand to Gadreel, who stood beside him for Dean's door flinging entrance. The older brother narrowed his eyes suspiciously but refrained from any comment on the different atmosphere, red eyes and weird posture of the other two.

"Well shake a leg!" Dean grinned. "I swear to God, anyone would think you'd been caught behind the bleachers."

Laughing at his own joke, Dean led the way down the corridor. Seeing Dean so looking forward to Cas's return, buoyed Sam's spirits. The cathartic talk with Gadreel did not leave him drained. In fact Sam felt better than he had in weeks. He risked a sideeye glance to the angel keeping pace at his side and was met with a mirrored expression of concern and understanding. His palm itched to find Gadreel's hand, to squeeze into being the embryonic feeling of affection that was growing between them. With Dean before them, Sam quelled his craving to focus on Cas's arrival and what it might presage for their quest to rid Dean of the Mark of Cain.


	6. Remaining

_A/N – Apologies for my absence. I've learned my lesson about starting two stories at once._

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_Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse_. – The River, Bruce Springsteen

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"I have nothing to offer."

Sam jolted to a stop. He thought he must have misheard the quietly spoken words from the angel whose back was half-turned into the leather bound book shelves.

"Castiel can aid you better than I."

Dean had gone to open the garage passageway for Castiel's pimpmobile. Sam was on his way to welcome their old ally, detouring to check if Gadreel would like to come with or wait in the library. He blinked at the self-depreciating statement then did a double take when he realized that Gadreel had re-dressed in the brown tee, hoodie and jeans from when Sam found him in Lincoln.

"Thank you for your kindness, Sam. I will never forget it."

"Wait. Hold up!" Sam raised his palm. "Am I hearing sayonara?"

Gadreel swallowed hard but remained silent and statue-like.

"What about earlier … in the store room?" Sam endeavored to understand. He thought they had made a connection. He had felt that something had opened between them. Confidences had been shared. A private person by nature, Sam had let Gadreel see inside. There had been gentle affection, tentative and new. Some seed glimmered. If Sam zeroed in on it might be a mutual attraction.

"I do not wish to be a burden," Gadreel could not meet Sam's eye. "I cannot hinder or delay your honorable quest to find a cure for your brother."

"That's fucking bullcrap." Sam shot. From edging closer to each other, now Gadreel wanted to run for the hills.

Gadreel's head lifted in surprise at Sam's expletive.

"You're not and you aren't. Why are you saying this shit?" Sam surged forward, grabbing Gadreel's biceps and searching into darkened green eyes.

Had he scared Gadreel? Had confessing his lost love for Abner exposed the angel too much? Was he afraid Sam would hurt him? Or that he would hurt Sam? The hunter sought answers without asking the questions. He huffed, slackening his punishing grip by a fraction. "I get that you think you're damaged. Hell, maybe you think you're unfixable, but look at me, I'm held together by duct tape and safety pins inside."

Gadreel observed Sam's grasping hands as if they were alien tentacles without withdrawing or resisting the touch.

"You are not." He finally looked directly into Sam's pleading eyes. "I healed you."

"Not talkin' 'bout in here," Sam demonstrated by releasing an arm to sweep over his torso. He tapped his temple. "In here."

"Sam," Gadreel expelled his breath as a prayer.

"No, Gadreel. You know a helluva lot. More than anyone 'cept Lucifer. But you don't know what the last few months have done to me, what I've endured, what I've done, clawing and digging through dark demonic crap to find Dean, to see him become his worst nightmare, to try and hold it together without him. Cas was on the end of a phone, others too, but I fought that battle and another one in my grapefruit. I hadta be the stronger brother, the Rock in our family. Keep on fighting for Dean, all the time knowing I'm flawed and will never measure up."

A crack of fire struck his cheek. He covered his reddened skin in shock.

"You slapped me." Sam's jaw dropped.

"You will not speak of yourself in those terms." Gadreel demanded. "I will not listen to you say such defiling words. You are more special and inspiring than you know."

Sam snorted.

"Stop." Gadreel's nostrils flared. "Sam please."

"Don't go." Sam blew a puff of air.

"I have nothing to give."

"You can stay. Be here."

"For you?" Gadreel asked tentatively.

Sam couldn't bring himself to ask, but having someone in his corner while he fought was something he craved. He nodded.

"I will stay. You can tell me anything, good or bad, dark or light." Gadreel promised.

"I know." Sam responded, feeling the verity of that promise.

He reached. Gadreel caught his hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing.

Sam nodded, running through a combination of relief and comfort. Gadreel was solid, committed and steady, Sam wanted to lean his head on his shoulder but if he did that, Dean would call him a sap until doomsday.

Dean and Castiel's voices preceded the pair. Gadreel made to pull away, to put acceptable space between them, but Sam kept hold of his hand. There were too many secrets, too much hidden over the years. Although he could not name this budding connection between he and Gadreel, Sam was not going to sneak around corners or shade this part of his life from Dean or Castiel's views.

"Freaking…." Dean managed to blurt before his jaw dropped.

Sam glared, challenging Dean to protest, part of him wanting to get any Dean-rant over and done, rather than be on tenterhooks for a blindsiding backlash.

Castiel placed an open palm over the buttons of Dean's shirt, stalling him. Amazingly Dean accepted Castiel's advance without a word.

"Hello Sam," Castiel tilted his head a fraction in greeting. "Gadreel, it is good to see you."

"Hello brother." Gadreel spoke with guarded pleasure.

Castiel surprised both his angelic sibling and Sam by wrapping his arms around the taller angel and administering a back clapping hug. Gadreel's eyes beseeched Sam for help, posture stiff as a board. He let go of Sam's hand and seemed not to know what to do with his limbs.

Sam jerked his head and made wide eyes at Castiel's shoulders. Gadreel made an 'a-ha' face before patting Castiel's suit jacket sleeves in response.

"Geez, Cas," Dean sniggered, "'s like now-you hugging stick-in-ass-you."

"I never had a stick in my ass." Castiel responded as he released his hold, his lips twitching slightly, betraying that he had comprehended Dean's brand of humor.

"This human custom," Gadreel enquired, "of hugging, I do not believe I understand the full range and meaning of its practical application."

"Ask Sam," Dean chortled, "He'll teach ya."

Sam's chest filled. There might be jabs and concerned words later, but it felt good that Dean trusted his judgment enough not to explode.

"So, what's the word, Cas?" Sam asked, reaching to pat their friend's shoulder.

"I may have a lead."

"On the Mark," Sam leaped to conclusions.

"Hey," Dean raised both palms. "before we all spend the next million freaking hours in research mode, food, beer, food, OK?"

"OK, Jerk." Sam grinned. "We all know about your bottomless stomach."

Dean patted his belly, "Damn right, Bitch."

Glee at being able to horse round with his brother was tainted slightly when Sam noticed Dean scratching his sleeve as he jaunted off to the kitchen.

"It troubles him." Castiel surmised.

"It needs to be fed." Sam huffed grimly.

Gadreel's arm spanned Sam's shoulders. "Dean excels at minimizing his struggles."

With a rueful grimace at the truth in his angel's words, Sam led the way to the library tables. Gadreel took the chair beside Sam. Castiel sat opposite reviewing some of the Enochian tracts they had rooted out.

"Strike lucky?" Dean asked a lack of hope born of hitting dead ends over and over. He placed a tray with three homemade bacon cheese burgers between their papers. Nabbing the only salad free one, he added to Castiel, "You sure you don't wanna patty? I got sub rolls and that weird hummus crap if you want something way out?"

"No, thank you," Castiel looked up with a twinkle in his eye, "I don't eat anymore, but I appreciate the offer."

"Whatever floats your boat, Man." Dean bumped Castiel's arm.

"Hopeless," Sam commented under his breath at the other couple's mutual chemistry. He muttered, "And that's our hummus Dean's trying to gift."

Gadreel nodded before taking a jaw spanning chomp of his meal.

"You're eating," Castiel blinked across the table, "Is there a problem with your grace?"

"No, Brother." Gadreel replied once he had swallowed his massive bite. "Sam has guided me through many flavors and combinations of foods. It has been an educational and pleasurable journey. And I like to consume what Sam enjoys."

"Don't you perceive these burgers at an atomic level?" Castiel asked with a disgusted nose crinkle.

"Yes. I do. And it is fascinating." Gadreel responded.

"It's not the same as tasting food as human." Castiel stated with a touch of envy.

"I would not know this. I have never been human."

"Right." Dean slammed his beer bottle onto the table. "You two can start your own Angel Recipe Review show on The Food Network later."

Sam snorted into his beer bottle as both angels readied to protest they had no intentions of making a show before realizing Dean was teasing.

"So what's the bead on this thing on my arm?"

"There may not be a 'bead'," Castiel replied cautiously, "You remember Hannah and I had been convincing rogue angels to return to heaven? I have a lead on an elder brother who has no wish to return."

Gadreel gulped, "Can he not be left in peace, Castiel?"

Castiel inclined his head, "We have been persuading many who fled the conflict between Bartholomew and Malachi to return. In this case, I believe our target may have information that could be useful."

"I will not be persuaded to go back." Gadreel snapped. "There are those who would not understand, many who would not forgive…"

"No one is making you go anywhere." Sam affirmed. "Right, Cas?"

"Yes, yes, Sam." Castiel appeared slightly flustered. "I did not come here to take Gadreel home."

"He is home." Sam dug his fingers into Gadreel's thigh, holding him there. Gadreel's hand covered his.

"There is nowhere but here." Gadreel met Sam's eyes, imparting the bonus extra that 'here' meant by Sam's side.

Dean's eyebrows rose.

"You're welcome." Sam managed to say through being slightly overwhelmed.

"Thank you, Sam." Gadreel's voice was soft and low.

Meeting gazes, they shared small almost shy smiles.

Castiel cleared his throat. "This angel is one of the first seraphim. He has hidden his abode with sigils but there are rumors of sightings."

"And he knows about the Mark?" Dean leaned forward.

"There is no guarantee but Ithuriel was there in the beginning. He famously tackled Lucifer with his spear and helped Michael cast Lucifer into the pit."

"Impressive." Dean hummed.

"He was in the garden." Gadreel shuddered. "He led the charge to the tree while Sariel and Raguel dragged me from the gate."

Sam gulped. Gadreel's eyes had gone vacant then glowed blue as if he was trying to distribute healing power to his own mind. Tightening his hold on Gadreel's thigh, Sam licked his lips. "Hey, hey Gadreel. You're here now, with me. We're in the library with Cas and Dean." Sam threw a look for help over to Castiel who nodded for Sam to continue. "You're not back there. You got out remember?"

"Sam." The angel's shoulders sagged. "I remember. I am cursed to remember too much."

"You wanna bail?" Sam suggested kindly. "I won't think any less of you if you wanna head down to my room and throw on a boxset."

Gadreel paused a moment, reflecting on the get out of jail card. "No. I will remain."

"Where is this itching-urinal?" Dean asked.

"Ithuriel," Castiel did not rise to Dean's toilet humor. "is occupying a vessel in Nevada. He has made it very clear that he does not want to be contacted."

"But we're going to contact him." Sam stated redundantly.

"Yes, we are." Castiel confirmed. "I would hope that Ithuriel might impart his knowledge, but the way he has secreted his location means it's possible that he is resistant to any other angels."

"He's a grumpy old bastard then?" Dean huffed.

"After our Father left, Michael…" Castiel sighed, "Let's just say, many of our older siblings assumed new roles. Ithuriel left his garrison to become a trainer of warriors."

"He train you, Cas? Is he your Mr Miyagi?" Dean asked as he open mouthedly chewed his burger.

"I was already assigned to my garrison but we received brothers and sisters prepped by Ithuriel." Castiel set his face. "He was a hard taskmaster. More recently he was a Raphael supporter but took refuge in Heaven's far reaches during the chaos that followed."

"If he was on Rafe's side," Dean's brow knitted in concern. "He's not gonna roll out the red carpet for you, Cas."

Castiel pinched his brow. He sighed, dropping his fingers in preparation for air quotes. "Since Metatron there has been 'water under the bridge'. We can hope he doesn't hold grudges."

"I get this guy is old as everything," Sam pointed out, "But how do we get him to spill anything he knows about Cain and the Mark?"

"I will appeal to his righteous reputation," Castiel replied with a steely gaze, "And if that fails, I will offer to intercede on his behalf to keep Heaven from his chosen home on Earth, and if that fails, I suggest we bring holy oil and our angel blades."

"I do not wish to be involved in torture. I will not torture. Oiled blades will not extract Ithuriel's secrets." Gadreel's jaw stiffened in a stony resolved face.

"No." Castiel agreed. "But the prospect of being confined indefinitely in an ever-burning circle works amazingly well."

"Taking on this dude sounds more dangerous than entry level angel face offs." Dean mused. "We might need a plan B, and a freaking plan C."

"If his place is warded, that puts me and Dean up to the plate." Sam added.

"Until we get inside and we can graffiti over his finger-paints." Dean continued.

"It would be prudent to add the banishing sigil." Gadreel volunteered.

Castiel made a hissing wince, "But as a last resort because if deployed we may not be able to locate Ithuriel again."

"I'd like to dig into the Men of Letters lore on him. Not dissing your knowledge of this guy, Cas, but you never know what nuggets are within the bunker walls." Sam tapped his finger on the table, adding, "Or online, y'know."

"We shouldn't delay for long," Castiel considered, "If Ithuriel moves…"

"Right on, Cas." Dean supported.

Sam huffed, "I'm not talking about writing a freaking thesis on him. Give me and Gadreel a day to check it out."

"We will all assist with research." Castiel nodded.

"Assist with freaking research," Dean grumbled under his breath, "Starts with action plans ends with noses buried in books. I'm getting another round and this time Cas, you're having one, even if you just hold the frigging bottle in your hand."

"Yes, Dean." The angel ducked his head in surrender to a grumpy Dean.

Gadreel's eyes widened. Sam shook his head, knowing his brother would feel better after venting his frustration.

"I will clear our plates." Gadreel volunteered, beginning to gather their leavings before Sam could stop him.

Left briefly alone, Castiel and Sam fell into companionable silence. The reverent stillness that naturally existed within the bunker's thick walls settled effortlessly in Sam's soul. The hush of knowledge through cavernous spaces reflected on generations of lore, at least until Dean laid a needle on the gramophone or they downloaded a show to watch feet propped on the map of the war room table.

"Penny for them?" Castiel asked.

Sam donned a smile rather than sharing his philosophical musings on time, knowledge and silence. He deflected, "How are you, Cas?"

"Not sick," Castiel answered plainly. "This grace sustains me, presently."

"That's good, right?" Sam drew his brows tight, "Plenty of gas in the tank?"

"I am being judicious. The reserves are not unlimited." Castiel intoned, "But currently it is not an issue."

"I get it." Sam nodded in understanding. "When all of this, with Dean, is solved we'll find your grace."

Castiel did not respond immediately. He appeared to ponder on Sam's optimistic resolution to the Mark and the promise of future aid.

"Dean seems more positive than I expected."

"He acts well." Sam huffed, "But it's taking its toll. Every dead end, every reminder… I see him scratching at it, and then he sees me seeing him and his hand flies away as if burned. Dean's freaking ace at putting on a brave face."

Castiel nodded in agreement. "And you, Sam?"

"I'm good." The hunter half-smiled. "I'm here for Dean."

"And Gadreel?"

Sam huffed with a shrug, "I guess I'm here for Gadreel too."

"I am not good at 'emotions' and 'relationships'." Castiel began.

Sam shook with a repressed snigger. "Air quotes not needed, Cas."

"I meant," Castiel tried again.

"You want to know what the story is with me and Gadreel." Sam rescued the floundering angel. "He is here and I want him here."

"Your feelings have changed." Castiel commented.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want him to go. I want to get to know him better, and he understands."

"You do not fear him."

"No. I don't, Cas." Sam quirked his lips. "A sea change, I guess. I don't fear Gadreel. If anything I fear for him. He worries that his sacrifice is not enough to clean the slate, that he will meet anger and violence from his own kind."

"I cannot reassure you, Sam." Castiel replied. "However I can say that I have met such and survived."

Sam sucked his bottom lip. Thing was that he was not sure that after eternities of torture, Gadreel's inner strength matched Castiel. "He was a figure of hate for so long. Part of the reason he took refuge after the fall was his need to hide away. Now we are going to face an angel who knew him before…"

"You do not need to worry about me." Gadreel came behind, resting his palm, finger touching the skin above Sam's collar, "I will be proud to accompany you. We will travel together."

Taking in the warm weight on his shoulder, Sam let tension seep out of his body. Impressed by such courage, he twisted his neck to seek Gadreel's gaze. "Together. We'll stand up to this Ithuriel dick together."

Gadreel's soft "Thank you." was almost inaudible but Sam heard, and it laid another gossamer layer of affinity between them.


End file.
